In the Bear's Cage
by Mishafied
Summary: After losing his mother to a tornado when he was young, Dean Winchester is determined to hunt down and understand these extreme forms of weather. When Castiel is assigned to help make a documentary of Dean's tornado obsessed team, he finds himself caught up in a situation where one wrong decision can make the difference between getting the shot- or getting killed.


**_Author's Notes:_**

I'll be updating this between chapters of All Star Designer- don't worry, I plan on updating both as frequently as I can. Please note that I am not a meteorologist; all information stated and used in this story is based upon years of fascination with extreme weather, as well as many hours spent on Google, YouTube, and the weather section of bookstores.

Disclaimer: Dean is a bad tornado chaser. He misbehaves. Any actions taken by him in this story may well be incredibly dangerous and highly discouraged by tornado chasers who don't have a death wish. Please do not follow any of Dean's chasing advice.

I have a new, rarely used Tumblr where I will be posting alerts when I update; if you wish to get updates via Tumblr, my Tumblr url name is Riluu.

For those who aren't familiar, the title is referencing the storm chasing slang "Bear's Cage", which is defined as "a region of storm-scale rotation, in a thunderstorm, which is wrapped in heavy precipitation. This area often coincides with a radar hook echo and/or mesocyclone, especially one associated with an HP storm. The term reflects the danger involved in observing such an area visually, which must be done at close range in low visibility. "

* * *

_Lawrence, Kansas – May 22__nd__, 1990_

As lightning arced across the blackened sky with a sharp _crack_, Dean's eyes widened and his small hands gripped the windowsill hard enough that the texture of the wood would surely be pressed into his skin.

He sat up on his knees facing the back of the couch, his stomach and chest pressed to the cushions as he leaned nose-to-nose with the window to see every spidery web of lightning that broke the night sky. The power went out nearly an hour ago, plunging the entire street into a thick darkness that hid the neighboring houses from view; but when the sky lit up, Dean could see the outlines of the houses, the gentle swoop of swaying power lines, and the whip-like movements of the tree limbs in the sharp, gusting winds.

Any other child on the street was probably cowering beneath a blanket, or bemoaning the loss of the nightly television. After all, storms were common in Kansas, especially in the spring and early summer months. Today had been unusually hot and muggy, so when Dean saw the blue arc on the weatherman's radar that signified a cold front, he knew they were in for a show this evening.

Other kids wouldn't have put two and two together, especially at four years old. Dean wasn't a genius, by any means, but when it came to storms he drank up every bit of information he could find. And while many of the lines and colors on weather maps were well beyond him, he knew that hot muggy air hitting cold air meant storms.

And he loved storms.

"Dean, you should come away from the window, honey," his mother's voice called out from where she sat cross-legged in the middle of the room, and he reluctantly looked over his shoulder. She held a flashlight in one hand, though it was hardly much help to light the room when Sammy kept grabbing at the top of it, desperate to hold the light in his chubby little hands. Ever since she turned on the flashlight, his stacking blocks had lain on the carpet, completely forgotten in favor of the novelty of the not-toy.

"I'm fine, Mom," Dean insisted, and whipped his head back around as the sky lit up again and the wind picked up speed. He didn't want to miss a second of this. Normally his dad would be right there with him, indulging Dean's fascination by asking him to count the seconds between the lightning and the vicious booms of thunder; John said that the longer the pause was between the two, the farther away the lightning had struck.

Dean wasn't sure he believed that, but it was a fun game, anyway.

But John wasn't there tonight; tonight was football night, a 'guys' night', as he called it, and that meant their dad was over at Victor's house. Maybe they still had power there, being all the way across town. Or maybe they'd lost power too and Dad was headed home already.

As a branch snapped free and tumbled across the yard into a fence, Dean hoped that his dad had stayed put.

The weather radio was on, but it was static-ridden and low volume, and the snippets Dean did hear were all talking about the county north of them. If the storm was worse there, Dean a bit jealous; he always got that sinking feeling of disappointment when he heard that somewhere close by got a better storm than them.

The light from the flashlight flickered again on the ceiling, Sam's fingers shadowed in the beam of light as he once again grabbed for the flashlight. He giggled with delight, unconcerned by the worsening conditions outside as Mary hummed softly to him to keep him entertained in the blackout.

A sound like a pebble hitting the roof caught Dean's attention, and he sat up a little straighter and squinted to try and see better through the rain trailing down the window. There it was again- another tap, and another, and Dean felt his mother's hand between his shoulder blades as she looked out the window too. The flashlight beam flailed across the ceiling and wall; she'd evidently relinquished it to Sammy when she got up.

"It's hailing, Mom!" Dean said with a grin as lightning streaking across the sky again, long enough to light up the white hailstones bouncing off the dark lawn. Mary pursed her lips, her hand rubbing Dean's back gently.

"It sure is, baby," she said, though her voice didn't have the same level of joy, by far. "Your father will be fit to be tied if his car gets dented."

Dean couldn't bring himself to worry about the car. He wanted more than anything to go gather up a few of those hailstones and put them in the freezer, save them to show his friends and his dad, assuming the man wasn't upset about his car getting beat up by it. But he knew his idea would get vetoed before he even made it to the door, so he saved the idea for another time. Maybe Dad would help him collect some hailstones next time it hailed.

The weather radio came to life with a loud tone, and while Dean continued to watch the hail, Mary moved to pick up the radio and turn the volume as high as it would go just as a voice started speaking over the steady warning tones.

"-_just received word that the National Weather Service has issued a tornado warning effective until 9:15 p.m. central time for all of Douglas County. Douglas county police reported a confirmed tornado sighting around eight o'clock near the south side of Clinton Lake, heading northeast at approximately 20 miles per hour._"

Dean's hands froze on the windowsill, his eyes wide as he stared at the radio. Clinton Lake was close to them, but there couldn't be a tornado. Not here. John always said that tornadoes were so small and the state was so big that the chances of a tornado actually hitting them were really really low. Tornadoes hit other places. Not here.

But Mary was already moving; she gathered up Sammy into her arms and deposited both the baby and the weather radio into Dean's hands.

"Honey, go to the bathroom, right now. I'll be there in one second, okay? Hurry," she said, and though her voice seemed calm, Dean could hear the stress in her words. Could hear her worry. The hail was letting up, but as Dean shuffled down the dark hall with his arms full of a squirmy six month old, the weather radio continued.

"-_a violent storm, and a dangerous storm; if you are in the Lawrence area of Douglas county, or really anywhere east to northeast of Clinton Lake, please take immediate cover in your tornado shelters, or in the center part of your home. Stay away from your windows, people, this is a very dangerous storm, with high winds of-_"

Dean's heart felt like it was stuck in his throat and the blood pounded in his ears as he turned the corner into the tiny bathroom. They didn't have a tornado shelter; nobody on this street had one if they didn't have a basement, something John said was because of the "shitty soil the whole suburb was built on".

Of course, Dean never thought they would actually need one. Tornados didn't hit here.

Thunder burst in the air so loud that Dean felt the floor tremble under his bare feet, and Sammy started to cry, blocking out the sound of the weatherman. Dean tried to hush him, bouncing on his feet until Mary appeared in the doorway, holding a huge pile of thick blankets; it looked like she'd taken the blankets off every single bed and out of every closet in the house.

"Into the bathtub, honey, go on," she said, her voice shaking, but there was something else. A building rumble, like the sound of a distant train. He shouldn't be able to hear a train over the storm. They didn't even live near any tracks.

"Dean, now!" Mary said. Her desperate tone shook Dean out of his panic, and he fumbled to get into the small tub with Sammy still clutched against his chest. He could feel wet spots where the baby was crying into his shirt, and he sat down just in time for Mary to start throwing the blankets on top of him.

There wasn't room for her in the tub. He wanted her to get in too, where it was safe, because bathtubs in rooms without windows were safe, he'd read it in the books. But he could only hunker down and hold Sammy close as the blankets layered on top of him got heavier and heavier, the hot trapped air a contrast to the cold porcelain he could feel through his jeans.

"Keep your head down, baby, and don't let go of Sammy, okay? Don't you let go of him," Dean heard his mother say, her voice muffled by both the blankets and that growing rumble. It wasn't a train, and it was louder, and closer, and Dean thought of The Wizard of Oz. Would their house be picked up in one piece and set down again? They would be safe that way.

Or it would miss them. Go right by their house, miss them and leave everything untouched. Because tornadoes didn't hit here.

That was his last thought before his ears popped, and the train hit the house.

The sound was unbearably loud; he couldn't hear anything but the roar, like the locomotive was right over the top of his head, crunching and grinding and snapping. It sounded like all the glass in the house shattered at the same time. Sammy's crying was indistinguishable against the cacophony now, and then the whole house groaned, and something _ripped_.

The wind was everywhere now. There shouldn't be wind, he knew that even as he clutched at the blankets to try and keep them from being pulled away, even as he heard his mother scream in terror nearby. They were inside, but there was wind, and that meant that the ripping sound had been the roof coming off. He couldn't keep a grip on the blankets and Sammy at the same time, though; instead, he closed his eyes tight, leaned forward, and made sure his own body was covering all of Sammy just in time for the wind to tear the blankets away.

He didn't know whether his mom had stopped screaming, or if the roar of the tornado was just too loud to hear anything else anymore.

The wind shoved at Dean, and he scrambled for purchase on the slick porcelain, his clothes quickly soaking through in the rain. Just as he thought he couldn't hold on against the wind any longer, something slammed down over the top of the tub, the wind shrilly whistling through the small gap between the top of the tub and the new blockade.

It seemed to last forever. It sounded like the world was tearing down around him, like the tornado just decided to sit over them forever, chewing up everything in reach. But eventually the roar began to fade, and the wind stopped tearing through the small gap.

Dean tried to breathe; his lungs ached like he'd been holding his breath the whole time, and maybe he had. Sammy was still crying and sniffling, tiny hands clutching at Dean's shirt with a surprisingly strong grip as Dean finally opened his eyes and looked up.

It was a wall. More specifically, the bathroom wall; he recognized the tile on it. The whole wall had fallen crooked on top of the bathtub, and Dean pressed his wet hands to it and tried to push it up, but it wouldn't give.

"Mom!" he yelled, though it took two tries to even get his voice to work. It was as if the tornado had reached into him, blasting his throat dry, making his voice rough and cracked.

There was no answer. He tried to peer out of the tiny gap between the bathtub and the wall, but it was too dark to see anything, and the lightning only lit up jagged, unfamiliar edges.

He tried again. And again. Mary couldn't be far; she'd probably seen the wall fall on the tub and went to look for help. That had to be it.

Dean screamed for help until his voice went hoarse, but when someone finally replied, it wasn't his mother.

"Dean? Dean!?"

Dean tried to shove at the wall again when he heard his dad's voice, but it still wouldn't budge; he was just too small to move it. "Dad, I'm here! Under here!"

He heard glass crunching and the muffled sound of wood shifting and hitting the ground, and then grease-streaked hands were gripping the edge of the wall, pushing it back until the bathtub was mostly uncovered. The rain seemed to have stopped, and Dean sat up and immediately gathered Sammy up against his chest again.

Sammy wasn't crying anymore, just sucking at his fingers with hitched breaths, eyes wide and red-rimmed, his other hand still clenched on Dean's shirt as Dean slowly stood up in the bathtub.

He didn't get much of a chance to breathe or even look around before John pulled him into a crushingly tight hug, one hand in Dean's hair as he leaned down to kiss the top of Sammy's head.

"I'm so glad you're okay. I'm so glad," he said, his voice wavering, then he finally pulled away and gave Dean a clear view of the house.

It wasn't a house anymore.

It reminded him of when Bobby let them tear down the old wooden fence at the junkyard and throw it all in a pile to make a bonfire; all he could see was jagged wood, nothing recognizable as having been a house. It was just…gone. The silence left in the wake of the tornado was almost stifling; he didn't take his eyes off the wreckage, even when John took Sammy from his arms.

"Dean, where did your mother go? Did she say she was going to get help?" John asked, and Dean shook his head slowly.

"I…don't know. She was here, but I don't know where she went. The wall fell on me and Sammy," he said, his voice soft as he climbed out of the tub; but he stopped while he was still sitting on the edge of it, his feet dangling over the ground. The tile bathroom floor was covered in broken glass and nails, and he wasn't wearing shoes.

For some reason, that was what got through to him, and his eyes finally brimmed with tears. He didn't have shoes, all his shoes had been in his room upstairs, and now there wasn't even an upstairs anymore.

"Hey. Hey, it's okay. There's some police just down the street, I'm sure she saw the lights and ran to get help, okay? I'm sure she's fine," John said, and he was probably trying for a comforting tone, but Dean could hear the fear there. "I'm going to take Sammy and go down there and find your mother. I'll come back for you, you just stay right here, okay? Don't move."

Dean snorted, still fighting back tears. Don't move, right; where would he go? His shoes were all somewhere in this pile of glass and wood. Or gone.

He wasn't worried about Mom; she was smart. She was strong. She must have seen the wall fall and went to the police officers for help. She and Dad would come back with Sammy, maybe with some shoes, and they could…what, go to Bobby's? They didn't have a house anymore. Dean had a T-ball game tomorrow, and he had no shoes, and no house.

Later that evening, he found out those weren't the only things he no longer had.

He no longer had a mother, either.

_Oklahoma City, Oklahoma – Present Day_

"I'm sorry, my dear, but I just don't have the same abundance of faith in you that you have in yourself."

Dean clenched his fists as Balthazar spoke and watched as the blonde flipped through yet another proposal that wasn't his. The guy wasn't even paying attention to him, and it made Dean's blood boil.

"It's not about faith, it's about experience. I have the crew, I have the tools, and I have the knowledge to get this done," he snapped, and he smacked a hand on the desk for emphasis, to try and get at least some eye contact from the bastard. "I can get you footage that will give your advertisers wet dreams. When was the last time this news station put together a god damn awesome documentary?"

Balthazar chuckled. "You're putting all your chips on this cockamamie vehicle of yours. You haven't even tested the damn thing to see if it works. For all I know, I'll send out a team and end up writing some touching obituaries about them and paying off their families for sending them on a ridiculous assignment and getting them killed."

"It's called the SIB, thanks. Storm Intercept Bunker. And Charlie ran sims on it up to 190 mile per hour winds with no signs of structural failure," Dean said, and then he sighed. "Look, it's safe. I wouldn't put my team in jeopardy, okay? I know I kind of have a reputation for taking risks, but I'm still here, aren't I? I'm not stupid. I know tornadoes. And I fuckin' swear, if you just give me a shot, just enough funding for the season and one of your fancy ass cameramen and a reporter, I can get you the shot of the century."

And okay, so maybe he was being a bit overly optimistic, but this was his last shot; he was running dry on funds, and the last few weeks had produced nothing but a few weak squall lines, nothing he could sell footage of.

If he didn't get some kind of backer, he couldn't repair Charlie's equipment, he couldn't pay his team, and he definitely couldn't afford to put them up in hotels for the rest of the season.

If he didn't get this endorsement, he was screwed.

Balthazar just eyed him for a few moments, twirling a pen in-between his fingers. Finally, he dropped a hand on the folder Dean brought along, opened it up, and spread out the papers inside; some were estimates for repairs on the equipment, others were approximate hotel and food costs for the season, and a good amount were pictures he'd shot of other storms and tornados. Not that he needed to prove he could get the shot; everyone knew Dean Winchester was not afraid to get right up a tornado's ass for a good shot.

…It was also the reason pretty much only the craziest chasers agreed to be on his team.

"Six weeks," Balthazar said, and Dean frowned.

"What?"

"I'll give you funding for the repairs and for six weeks of chasing," Balthazar said as he looked up from the papers. "One cameraman for the six week period."

Six weeks. It wasn't much; it was only half the remaining prime season. But if he could put the SIB into a tornado before that six weeks was up, if he could get that video and all the measurements from inside the funnel…he'd be set for years.

He had to take what he could get.

"What about a reporter? You always send along a reporter," he asked. He knew that if they didn't have someone from the outside, someone unfamiliar with the terminology, the documentary could just go right over the average person's head. Especially at the rate Charlie dropped her tech talk.

"You want me to take an actually valuable employee and put them in that contraption with you? Are you mad?" Balthazar asked, and Dean bristled with the urge to defend his work, but he managed to hold back.

"I'm not askin' for your leading six o'clock guy, come on. Just someone who knows how to pull all this shit together. We're meteorologists, not videographers. Unless you want all six weeks of footage dumped on your lap when we finish up," he said, trying to appeal to the man's business sense. Dean knew that if the footage wasn't clipped and edited along the way, it would take months after the chase wrapped up before some layman could slog through it and half ass a presentation. Dean couldn't afford to lose months between the end of the chase and getting paid.

No, he needed someone there, learning in the field and putting it together as they went, someone who could make sure this got done quick.

"Fine. I'll send you a…videographer, then. Someone stupid enough to sit in a tornado with you, anyway, so don't expect a miracle," Balthazar agreed. "And you'd best not disappoint me, either. I'm going to have to pay whoever these two idiots are an assload of money to go along with this, and when the insurance guys hear about this, they're going to give me seven hells."

Dean smirked. "I don't disappoint. Your station is going to air the most intense tornado documentary ever shot. Guaranteed."

Balthazar snorted. "Yes, well. I have your number. Get out of here so I can have my accountant draw up the paperwork for this foolishness, and so I can bribe some minimum wage paperweights into going along with this death wish on wheels."

Dean had already tuned him out by then, eager to get back to his team, who were waiting outside for the verdict. Charlie was going to be fucking thrilled, and everyone else, too- they didn't have to give up the hunt for the year. They lived for the chase, just like Dean, and none of them wanted to go back to their off-season jobs when there was still so much potential in the season.

Even if they had to drag some clueless pedestrian and an extra cameraman along for the ride, they still had a chance to put the SIB in a tornado- and one way or another, he was going to do it.

Castiel Novak was bored out of his mind.

He had twenty minutes of random footage and interviews to go through to make a 35 second spot about an old asshole who was filing complaints with the city over a nine year old's lemonade stand. And while the old guy would be easy to cut into entertaining sound bytes to create the perfect 'villain', the kid in question was a reporter's nightmare. She muttered, she was always either looking right at the camera or straight down at the ground- never where she was supposed to be looking. The reporter had done the best she could, but now it was up to the unfortunate videographer- that would be Castiel- to mold this into some kind of story that would meet the reporter's approval.

He wasn't even technically a bonafide 'videographer'. It was all thanks to Gabriel that they'd given him a crash course and let him do the smaller jobs like this.

"Hey, Cassie!"

Speak of the devil.

Castiel leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Gabriel, I hate this child."

Gabriel sat on the edge of Castiel's desk and glanced at his screen. "Ouch. Yeah, Ruby told me about that kid. No future in show business there, that's for sure," he said, swinging his legs as he unwrapped a bite size Twix. "Hey, listen. You know how I said I would keep an ear to the ground for any fast cash opportunities for you? Cause I'm your bestest best friend in the world?"

Well, if Gabriel hadn't had his full attention before, he certainly had it now. "Yes, of course. Do you have something?"

"Well…sort of."

"What do you mean by sort of?" Castiel asked, excitement bleeding into dread. If Gabriel was apprehensive, he could only imagine… "I'm not stripping for any bachelorette parties. I thought I made that clear last time you asked-"

"No, no, it's nothing like that," Gabriel said with a laugh. "Listen, Balthazar has a project coming up, and your name was on the short list of people he'd like to send on it. Something about you being one of the less unfortunate looking videographers back here or some shit."

"…I don't feel like I should take that as a compliment."

Gabriel waved him off. "Anyway. It's big money. And I mean, like…you get eleven dollars an hour back here, right? Well this gig, it's six weeks on location, and he's offering 30k plus room and board and meals. Everyone else on his short list turned him down."

Castiel stared at Gabriel incredulously. "30k? And they're turning him down? What the hell is the assignment, a war zone? Why doesn't he send one of the reporters on it?"

"See, that's the thing," Gabriel said around a bite of candy bar. "It's not a war zone, but hell, it may as well be. You know Dean Winchester?"

Castiel did a double take; what the hell did Winchester have to do with this? "You mean that maniac who plays chicken with tornadoes?"

Gabriel nodded. "Yeah, that one. His team has a new vehicle they're testing out. It's like a tank, got armor and all kinds of scientific shit built in. They built it to drive into a tornado, supposedly."

"So…he has a death wish."

Gabriel shrugged. "He's convinced this tank thing would survive a tornado. He's convinced Balthazar to fund a six week documentary of his team trying to intercept a tornado with it. Balthazar promised him a cameraman and a videographer. He's got a cameraman lined up already, that Tran kid practically dove on the thing."

The pieces fell together. And he really wasn't surprised; he'd met Kevin Tran a few times, and the kid seemed to always be ready for a new, exciting story. "So…Balthazar wants to pay me 30k to ride along with their team and edit the footage Kevin takes?"

"That, and he wants you and Kevin in the tank thing."

"…_what_?"

"Somethin' about how the whole thing will connect better with the viewers if we put some non weather nerd in the front seat of the whole thing," Gabriel explained, and then he smirked. "Come on, Winchester says it's safe, and he's not dead yet. Might be fun."

Castiel rolled his eyes. "You have an odd idea of fun, Gabe."

"Noted. So, you in? Six weeks and you make more than you usually make in a year. It doesn't get much better than that."

Castiel wanted to say no. He wasn't the type to put his life on the line, especially for a job he didn't like in the first place. The idea of chasing down tornadoes was terrifying, let alone trying to sit in one; he'd moved here from Philadelphia. He'd never seen a tornado in his life. And he'd heard some crazy stories about Dean Winchester and his tendency to take risks other storm chasers didn't dare try, for good reason.

But at the same time…there was Anna.

If he didn't come up with a good amount of money soon, he would fall even more behind on the payments to keep her at the home she was in. He was already living on the bare minimum at his studio apartment; he'd gone half the winter without heat, and half his meals were ramen noodles. But they couldn't keep letting him slip on the payments; if things kept going the way they were, they would have to discharge her from the home.

Six weeks of chasing tornadoes could have him set for the next two years, at least.

Gabriel was already grinning, because he could see Castiel giving in. Finally, Castiel sighed heavily, then nodded.

"Fine. Fine, this is…it's crazy, but I'll go. I'll do it."

Gabriel clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I knew you had an adventurous streak in you!" he said as he hopped off the desk. "I'll let him know, and he'll have someone bring down all the paperwork."

Castiel dropped his face in his hands with a groan. Sure, he needed the extra cash, but he never expected he'd have to re-enact The Wizard of Oz to get it.

As soon as he got off work that day, Castiel went to visit Anna.

It wasn't one of his usual visiting days; he was too busy at the station to come every day, so he usually stopped by Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Today was Tuesday, though, and Balthazar expected him to meet up with Winchester's team on Thursday- so he had one day to pack, and that was tomorrow.

The nurses were happy to see him, as usual, though. They'd never held his financial struggles against him when he came to visit, and today was no different.

"How is she?" he asked Meg, one of the nurses who worked with Anna the most. Meg shrugged.

"She's…a little out of it today. But seeing you should help," she said, her voice like a purr as she led the way down the hall and through the secure double doors. "She's hearing the angels again."

Castiel took a deep breath; he'd hoped she wouldn't regress back to that. She hadn't spoken about the angels in months.

But it wasn't as if schizophrenia could be cured. There would always be relapses, always be bad days, and lately there had been more bad days than good. Back when she had their parents, things were more stable, more calm; after Castiel left for college, they even moved Anna out here, to Oklahoma, thinking that life out in the country would be easier on her than life in Philadelphia. And they'd been right; she improved leaps and bounds once she was out of the big city.

Then, four years ago, there was the accident.

It was stupid, really. It never should have happened. That drunk driver had been arrested three times before for drunk driving, and yet there he was on the road again, drunk. In one night, they lost both their parents, and Anna was alone.

So Castiel, despite being close to finishing his degree in English Education, dropped out of college. He moved here to take care of Anna, but after the accident, she was uncontrollable. She had a breakdown, to the point of being violent- Castiel had more scars from trying to calm her than he liked to think about.

This home for the mentally ill was the safest option, where she couldn't hurt herself or anyone else, and she saw a therapist regularly. But it wasn't cheap; even though Gabriel got him that job at the station, it had never been enough to keep up on the bills.

Which is how he ended up agreeing to this crazy tornado hunt at all.

Meg stopped at Anna's open door and knocked lightly on the door frame. "Anna, you have a special guest," she said, but Anna didn't turn from where she sat on the edge of her bed, facing away from the door. She was like a statue, head tilted, not moving an inch, red hair falling around her shoulders like a curtain.

"Thanks. I can take it from here," Castiel said to Meg, and she nodded and left the two alone. Castiel went into the room and pulled a chair up close to the bed, not surprised by the almost vacant look on Anna's face; it was like she didn't even realize he was there. Maybe she didn't yet.

"Anna," he said as he sat down and reached for her hand. She jumped in surprise as his hand closed over hers, and it took her a few moments to focus on him.

"It's not your day," she said softly, and Castiel chuckled.

"No, it's not. I…have some news. Are you with me today?"

It was his way of checking to see if she could focus well enough on the conversation to remember what he said. Sometimes she said the voices were too loud, too many, and it was just like speaking to someone who was deaf.

But today, she hesitated only a moment before she nodded. "I'm alright. The angels are talking again."

"Meg told me."

"They…they speak of destruction, Castiel. They speak of fire, and their brother rising from hell, a-and-"

"Hey," Castiel said, and he gripped her hands tighter in both of his, cutting her off before she could fall farther into that pit. "You don't have to listen to them right now, okay? I've got something really important to tell you."

She seemed to settle again, her eyes back on him and focused as she nodded. He hesitated and tried to decide how best to say this; he could only hope she wouldn't be upset with him.

"I got a big job at work. But it's on location, so I won't be able to visit for a while," he explained, and Anna's forehead creased with a frown.

"What kind of job? For how long?"

"Six weeks," he said. "I'm going to be editing some footage for a team of storm chasers. I'll just be riding along with them."

Anna actually smiled- for a moment there, he saw his sister again. "You…_you_, Castiel, are going to chase storms? Mr. I Iron My Clothes Every Morning?" she asked, and Castiel smiled too, because it did sound ridiculous.

"Yeah. Well, they'll be doing the chasing, technically, and I'll just be along for the ride," he said, squeezing her hands again. "I wouldn't do it if it wasn't important. The station is paying a lot of money for this trip. It could have us set for years."

Her smile faded, and Castiel wasn't surprised. He knew that in her lucid moments, she felt horrible guilt over what Castiel gave up for her; and while Castiel knew it was worth it, it still obviously bothered her.

"It's not safe," she said, her voice nearly a whisper. "They chase tornadoes, Castiel. It's not safe."

Castiel made sure his smile stayed firmly in place. "I'll be fine. These guys have been doing this for years, and they have all the fancy equipment. They know what they're doing. I promise you, in six weeks I'll be back. And I'll bring the footage to show you."

He wasn't about to mention the vehicle made to drive in a tornado. He didn't want to worry her any more than she already was; for now, he would let her think it was just a normal storm chasing team, staying at a safe distance. At least his words seemed to comfort her a bit.

"You'll still call?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Whenever I can. I promise. Might have a crazy schedule out there."

She suddenly froze, her eyes going glassy like they always did when she wasn't quite there; Castiel put his hand on her shoulder and gently shook her. "Anna? You alright?" he asked, and for a few moments, she just stared at nothing.

"The angels," she finally said, still not looking at him. "They're speaking about you."

Castiel blinked. That was new; in all her time listening in on the supposed 'angels', she never mentioned them acknowledging her at all, let alone him. But it made sense, if they were fabricated in her mind, and she was worried about him. "Anna-"

"They say that Mary wants you to look after her son."

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Well, uh…I'll be sure to remember that if I run into anyone named Jesus," he said, trying to bring some levity to the situation. Anna didn't respond, her mind in a different place now; he had the feeling she was gone, for the moment.

He stood up, kissed her on the forehead, and said his goodbyes before he left the room. He hated leaving her for so long without a visit, but hopefully this would all be worth it in the end.

He just had to hope he didn't get caught up in Dean Winchester's death wish.


End file.
